Jacob's Ladder: On Higher Ground series Book 3

ON HIGHER GROUND

JACOB’S LADDER

PATRICIA ANNE HARRIS

BOOKS BY PATRICIA ANNE HARRIS

On Higher Ground Series:

Book One: Age of Innocence

Book Two: Darkness Falls

Book Three: Jacob’s Ladder

On Higher Ground: Jacob’s Ladder

Copyright 2017 by Patricia Anne Harris

All rights reserved.

Cover design by Jeanine Henning

Book design by Maureen Cutajar

www.gopublished.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, or events used in this book are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, events or locales is completely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-0-9905653-7-6

Though my dates and story line concerning the Balkan War are fictitious, the events, horror and madness are not. I dedicate this book to all victims of war and genocide. May God’s healing grace be upon them.

CONTENTS

Map of Former Yugoslavia

PROLOGUE: Italy

BOOK ONE: Maddi

BOOK TWO: Andy

La Mia Bella Famiglia

Acknowledgments

ITALY

The hollow corridor of polished marble and stately arches revealed nothing but shadow and silence. Fifteenth century frescoes adorned ancient walls, stoic witness to the day’s demise. When the ruby red of sunset poured through the leaded glass, it was heralded by the bursting, breathy cries of new life.

It’s a girl, the doctor said.

Surrendering the newborn to the attending nurse, soft, suckling sounds faded in a whisper of long robes. The heavy doors sighed closed.

He worked quickly, stitching her body, repairing torn flesh. He worked the needle with deft fingers; thorn piercing flesh, drawing fresh drops of blood. In the midst of suffering, life would not be denied. It continues to spring forth eternal and grace the world with its presence.

We are done here. Are you ready for the onslaught?

The young mother’s tender countenance was humbling.

I would like to name her first.

The door opened, ushering in the sweet sounds of children’s voices before silenced by the click of the latch. An elderly nun held a clip board in her hand.

Congratulations! Everyone is waiting to greet our newest little one! Have you chosen her given name?

Liliana,

The doctor nodded his approval. Bellisimo!

Liliana Scarlet.

He glanced at the nun standing next to him.

The holy robes of Cardinals. Her pen scratched briefly before pausing above the next line.

Will the baby take your surname or the father’s?

The new mother smiled as a handsome man burst through the door.

She will carry them all. La mia bella famiglia.

BOOK ONE

Maddi

NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA, 1980

1

The editing room was awash with activity in preparation for next month’s layout.

Maddi?

What, she turned from her terminal, fingers still poised above the keyboard.

The story on toxic shock is ‘on hold’, Beth handed her a fax. Proctor and Gamble’s attorney got a court-order.

Maddi’s face registered disbelief. That’s unconscionable! She threw the paper down in disgust. Women need to know the risk. Is Ted aware of this?

Yes, her assistant acknowledged.

What is replacing the story?

Her assistant hesitated. Take a deep breath. An interview on the new Calvin Klein Jeans commercial. You know the one. Nothing gets between me and my Calvins? Polly’s got it. You’ve been reassigned to cover Milan.

Maddi groaned. What about Judy? She’s our fashion guru.

Ted’s got her covering the ABA’s convention at the Omni. Beth leaned back, peering into their boss’s office. Hey, Mr. Klein. I’m free tomorrow. How ‘bout sending me to Milan with Maddi?

Maddi closed the file in front of her. Don’t waste your breath. God forbid the trip be any fun.

Mr. Klein moved to close his office door.

Uh, oh, Beth moved away from the desk whispering, Here comes you-know-who. See you tomorrow.

Maddi turned. Crap. Hey, David, she tilted her head back for his kiss. Thought you were still in Des Moines.

He slid into the chair in front of her desk, long legs draped in Banker’s gray. Got back late last night...where were you?

Maddi leaned back in her chair. At my place. Her eyes flickered. I guess you noticed my clothes…

He studied her. I noticed. I thought things were fine. This week.

She closed her eyes. We can talk about this later?

He looked around the room, insuring privacy. It was almost five and the room had cleared for the evening. Its been three years, Maddi, he lowered his voice, We’ve been sleeping together for two. Maybe it’s time to drop the fucking torch.

Maddi’s face colored. You know, fuck you. I don’t have to take this.

Take what? The truth? He felt no satisfaction when she flinched. Get over it, Maddi. I’m sick of sleeping with a dead man’s wife. I am sure he was one helleva guy, but he’s gone. He waited while she dug around in her briefcase. He had nothing against her former husband. In some dark, perverted sort of way, he was envious of that kind of devotion. First come first-served. Too bad the dead guy wasn’t getting out of line.

She threw a key across the top of the desk. Here. I won’t be needing this.

He picked it up, turning it over in his palm. Saying nothing, he put the key in his shirt pocket. Look, he shoved the chair back, give me a call when you return from Milan. We can go out, share a bottle of wine, he smiled at her sardonic expression. Or maybe not. To his relief, she cracked a smile. He liked Maddi. No need to burn bridges. Take care of yourself, okay?

You can count on it, she said with a bright smile. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass. She reached up and flipped her computer back on. Finding the email address for her psychiatrist, she fired off a note breaking her Wednesday appointment.

Dr. Emily Alpert. Part shrink-part confidant-part friend. She would be elated to hear David took a hike. She had been encouraging Maddi for months to move on. Hey. David was perfect on paper. Handsome. Witty. A talented journalist. The problem seemed to stem with Maddi. She didn’t feel anything except pressed upon. Any sex they had was token. She smiled. Dr. E. told her she would like to call it a pity fuck, but it lacked the required emotion.

Maddi saved a copy to file before shutting down the computer terminal for the night. Good ole David. He attributed Maddi’s lack of emotional connection to her widowhood status. Like ‘carrying a torch’ was expected. Oh yeah. Keeping the flame alive. Leave it to a man to come up with that one.

2

Later that evening, Maddi sat with her eyes half-closed, listening to the steady thrum of music softly playing on the hi-fi. She had arranged for the cat and the fish; passport and bags packed; she continued down her mental checklist. Damn. She forgot to refill her prescription for birth control pills. She looked over at the clock and groaned. She had an early flight in the morning that would take her to Chicago, then a six-hour layover until her flight to Milan. She should have gone to bed hours ago. The starched white curtains rustled against the open French doors, darkness momentarily subdued, revealing a shadow-ladened courtyard garden. A half-glass of wine waited patiently at her elbow, lipstick stains rimming the glass. When the phone rang, she struggled to get up from the sofa.

Hullo,

Honey, is that you?

Damn. Mom.

What’s the matter? You sound awful,

No, it’s nothing. You just woke me, that’s all. Everything is fine, she yawned nervously, in fact, I am really glad you called. I leave for Milan in the morning, No sound filled the silence. Pretty exciting, huh?

I thought you were going to come home, Maddi. Mindy is coming in with the boys....

Ah, Mom,

We all were counting on you.

Maddi could feel the familiar tightness.

Will David be going with you?

Maddi pushed hard. No, Mother, he will not. She ignored the silence on the other end. We broke up. Thank God.

Her mother sighed. If it was such a drain, why did you continue to see him for two years? Maddi? Honey? We love you, baby. This indifference you feel? It’s not just David. You do it with us. Your sister…all of us. We’re deeply hurt by your indifference. We really, really want you to come home.

Come on, now, Mom...everyone will live. I thought you’d be happy I was seeing the world. You’re always telling me I need to meet new people...

She listened to her mother’s soft breathing. Like a frightened child, she wrapped in it, seeking comfort. Her eyes moved across the room, fixing on the half-full glass.

When I come back.... first stop...Port Aransas. I promise.

She held her breath. Nothing. Gotta go, Mama. I love you.

3

T axi! Maddi ran alongside the checkered cab, windows down, smeared with grime and dust. The cab slowed and moved to the curb.

Where to? he asked, holding the door open before storing her bags in the trunk.

Grazie. Hotel Principe di Savoia, Piazza della Republica, she took her hat off and shook her long hair, feathering it across her shoulders. Smoothing her long, challis skirt she privately lamented the cropped turtleneck sweater she had chosen for the flight. Milan was warmer than expected.

You are here for Fashion Week?

Maddi looked up to see him watching her in his rear-view mirror, eyes warm.

That’s right.

Television or print?

Print. I’m covering the spring runway for La Louisianne. She acknowledged his confused look. America...New Orleans.

Ah! Bueno. Good Catholic city, much like Italia. Welcome to Milano!

Maddi nodded, turning her attention to the scenery outside her window. The land was green and flat with the city shimmering in the August sun. It was her first trip to Italy and not at all as she had pictured. She scrutinized the terrain. Not a grape in sight.

When the cab dropped her off, she checked into her room and stripped off her sweaty clothes. Determined to live up to the image of every B grade Italian film she ever loved, she walked around in silk slip, long curls piled on top of her head and secured with a gold pen; compliments of the hotel.

Room service? A chilled bottle of Chianti, please. Si. Room two-three-zero. Grazie.

Probably should call the office, let Ted know I arrived alive. She dialed the front desk requesting an overseas line before hanging up.

She was still in her slip when she heard a key inserted into the lock. Scrambling, she dropped her legs from the arm of the Louis XVI chair just as the door opened and an elegant stranger stood looking at her in amusement.

Sigorina! What a lovely surprise. I know the hotel is known for its exquisite amenities, but they seem to have outdone themselves.

Maddi came sputtering to life. Oh...no. No, no, no. You misunderstand,

A waiter appeared at the gentleman’s elbow with a bottle of wine and a single glass. Signora Lawson? he peered curiously inside, eyes widening.

God. Un momento, she jumped to her feet, curls cascading down her shoulders as the gold pen rolled effortlessly across the floor. Please. She stood tall, ignoring her embarrassment. Yes, you have the right room, she said to the waiter. And no, Sir. I am not an amenity, in fact, quite the opposite. Obviously there has been a mix-up. This is my room, she was struggling now, confused by the blank look on his face. I think.

The bellboy balanced the tray on one hip, leaning against the wall.

Of course, the handsome stranger snapped to life, voice soft and warm, I am so sorry. Confusion reigns I fear...to be expected during such a busy week for Milano. You are here for Fashion Week?

Maddi could not believe he was still standing in her doorway, oblivious to the fact she was practically naked, and asking her questions, for god’s sake. For the life of her, she could not pull up any fittingly scorching Italian phrase to fit the moment. Arrivederci, Signore....?

His demeanor was properly respectful. Antonello da Messina. The waiter snapped to attention while he continued. The pleasure is surely all mine, Mrs. Lawson. He turned, speaking briefly to the young man, before bidding her adieu. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering you a special Rosso...it comes from a humble but beautiful hillside vineyard in Sicily. Enjoy, He bowed slightly, his eyes never leaving her face.

When the door closed, she remained frozen in place. Her eyes widened slightly.

Damn.

Signore da Messina, I am terribly sorry, The concierge’s calming demeanor belied his internal fury. The da Messinas of Sicily were world-renowned. Such an error was unforgivable.

Antonello ignored him. Ilicia Sergetti’s key.

Of course, he snapped his fingers and a gold key materialized. Escort Signore da Messina to the Sardinia Suite, he ordered the bellboy.

4

Maddi entered the lobby of the hotel, exhausted from a full day of interviews and feeling grumpy. Quickly scanning the area, she noticed Belle Short talking with Harry something-or-other from the Chicago Trib. If Belle saw her, she would be forced to listen to her drivel all night. Seeking to blend in with the crowd heading for the front desk, she stepped lightly, trying to tone down the staccato beat of her heels against cool marble. She moved in close to a stunning woman who towered over her...obviously a model, or if not, should be. Glancing furtively around the cashmere float coat that trailed ostensibly behind, she was relieved to see her passing go undetected. Nose practically touching the black cashmere, she made her way to the polished brass doors of the elevator. Unwilling to move until she was safely inside, she could feel the press of a person behind her. Slightly embarrassed by her shadowing posture, she remained frozen in place, hoping to retain anonymity.

Signora Lawson,

She could feel his warm breath against her ear. Cheeks warming to high color, she nodded in acknowledgement. Signore da Messina.

They moved into the small space, tall, lofty model moving to the side, freeing Maddi to slide to the back. He moved effortlessly to lean against the wall next to her. Out of her peripheral vision, she could see he wore an impeccably tailored suit of navy pin stripe, with Italian loafers that molded to his narrow feet like butter. An overcoat draped across one arm, he held an ornately carved umbrella in the other.

Antonello, will we be dining in or out this evening? a female voice inquired.

To Maddi’s horror, it was the model.

I thought we would go back to the penthouse for drinks, he touched his date’s shoulder and she turned to kiss his fingertips. We will dine after the opera, he said, his arm falling to his side.

Maddi could feel his eyes on her. Damn. Her hair was refined and beautiful this morning, but the wind and rain had swirled it into a wild mass of ringlets. Thank God she had on a silk suit. Her brow wrinkled slightly as she grudgingly admired the model’s coif. Why didn’t I sweep it on top of my head?

The elevator stopped at Maddi’s floor, its doors sighing open. Three more feet and she’d be free. Now if big bird would move aside so I can get past?

Antonello put his hands on Ilicia’s waist to ease her aside, opening a path of departure.

Maddi failed to notice. She was distracted trying to decide if she should thank him now for the excellent bottle of wine he ordered for her when she first arrived, or cut her losses and hope for a chance encounter when she was better prepared.

Signora?

Her cheeks reddened when the couple smiled down from their lofty height and she realized they were waiting.

Thank you, she responded politely, moving from the cramped quarters to the expansive hallway.

Signora Lawson?

She turned to look at Antonello.

Buona sera, he bowed slightly, his mouth soft and expressive, Ilicia’s bejeweled hand touching his arm.

5

Maddi did not see her Signore da Messina again. Each day upon return to the Hotel, she would hope, but to no avail. Antonello seemed to have left the city, perhaps to return home from whence he came. On the day before she was scheduled to depart, she finally swallowed her pride and asked the concierge if Antonello would be returning soon. It was then she learned that he never was a guest of the hotel, only a visitor. The family owned a penthouse on the Via Monte Napoleone, an exclusive area of the city adjacent to the garment district.

With his wife? She asked delicately.

The concierge face was guarded. I really wouldn’t know.

Pride shot to hell, she pressed. The tall one...dark-haired...beautiful? God, does he pay no attention? She wears the capes, long flowy things.

This time, he nodded. Of course, Signorina Sergetti. No, he is not married to her, he paused, addressing a statuesque blonde bombshell, Good evening, Signorina Winberg, he waited until she was out of hearing distance before looking back down at Maddi, Nor to her.

Maddi’s eyes widened as she followed the young woman’s exit. Oh, she said softly.

He greeted several guests before addressing her again. Most of the press will be leaving in the next day or so…you, too, will be leaving us?

Regretfully, yes. I have enjoyed my stay here in Milan and at the hotel.

He took her hand. Until next year, then, Signora Lawson, he bowed slightly before taking leave.

Maddi sighed. The lobby was almost empty and she was feeling very much alone. She headed for the elevator, and then changing her mind, slipped into the lounge and took a seat at the empty bar.

The bartender moved towards her, stepping beneath a beam of light that only magnified the room’s darkness. May I be of service Signora?

Maddi leaned forward, her hair crowned in light. A glass of wine, please. A name came to mind, graying her mood further. Vecchio Nerello Rosa, she leaned back into the shadows.

The waiter laughed comfortably with a young woman at the far end of the bar as he filled Maddi’s order.

August was almost over. Soon the leaves would color and fall and November would arrive once more. She ran her hands through her hair, tucking each side behind an ear. At least she picked up some stunning clothes during her stay. She smoothed the fabric of her trousers, shiny black in stark contrast to the white pique of her mandarin collared cropped jacket. She pointed her toes and admired the stiletto heeled black calfskin sandals. Let us not forget the great shoes.

May I?

She recognized his voice instantly, her body flushing at the sound. Signore da Messina!

Antonello, he said comfortably, slipping onto the stool beside her. He nodded in approval when the bartender delivered her drink of choice. You liked it...I am pleased.

She touched his arm. I never thanked you for your gift...I liked it very much. May I buy you a drink? As soon as she saw his face, she knew her offer was inappropriate. Her disappointment was sharp.

That is unnecessary, Ms. Lawson, he answered, using American vernacular instead of old world charm. It is my honor and privilege to serve you...in whatever capacity I may, he looked past her and seeing someone he recognized, rose from the stool.

There you are! It was the blonde from the lobby. She kissed his cheek, handing him her wrap.

He helped her into it before turning back to Maddi. Signora Lawson, I would like to introduce you to Susannah Winberg. She is a model for Karin of Paris.

It is very nice to meet you, Miss Winberg.

Susannah smiled. The pleasure is all mine, Signora Lawson.

You will leave Milano soon?" Antonello asked, Susannah’s hand resting lightly on his arm.

She felt a flood of emotion, her cheeks aflame.

I leave in the morning.

She would need to change her flight reservation, but she didn’t care. Her discomfort was oppressive, it weighed her down, suffocating her.

We must hurry, Antonello, Susannah urged. Have a safe trip home, Signora, wherever that may be.

Antonello took Maddi’s hand into his. Perhaps destiny will touch us twice, and we will meet again, he said, raising her hand to his lips. Such sad eyes. He would wonder the source of this river of tears. Gently, he kissed her fingertips. God speed, Signora Lawson.

Frustrated, she fought tears. Buono sera.

6

Antonello and his date moved out into the lobby where their guests awaited. Andrea Beradi, Antonello moved boldly to the older man’s side. How wonderful to see you and your lovely bride! He bent to kiss the hand of the much younger woman. Please, he put his arms around Andrea’s shoulders, leaving Susannah and Carolina to follow.

Come now, tell me about your father, Andrea asked.

Antonello raised his arm, a long limousine gliding effortlessly out of the encroaching darkness. He is not well. The doctors tell us it is his heart.

Perhaps it is broken? Your mother was everything to your father. Her passing in the spring was most difficult, I am sure. For all of you.

Antonello nodded. Her name be upon the lips of the saints. He held the door open, ushering the two women outside. We have much to discuss. Philippe tells me you know of a vineyard in Po Valley that may be available for purchase?

Andrea nodded. Will your brother be joining us? It will require authoritative action, if Chateau da Messina hopes to secure it. He patted Antonello’s arm. You are known for your exquisite taste in woman and fine wine, Antonello. I promise you, you will be favorably moved by this estate’s Soave. It is the finest I have encountered. Come. We will see what the night has to offer.

7

Late that evening Maddi lay naked in a steam-filled tub. Hair carelessly knotted on top of her head, she ignored the long strands of dark curls that dripped moisture. Hand towel saturated with steamy water, she twisted it with a vengeance, its healing warmth gushing across her neck and shoulders. It felt good. Soothed her taut muscles, easing some of the pain she held there. Italy. What ever happened to the adventuresome girl who would have traveled the country, experiencing everything she could? She studied her naked body. Breasts creamy white, tummy flat and brown where the sun had warmed her skin during New Orleans’ long, hot summer. She would be thirty soon. She opened the twisted cloth and lay it across her stomach. Thirty seemed a foreign land devoid of youth, filled with shadows that stretched as far as the eye could see. Dear God, I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to get old. Alone. She picked up the towel, twisting it, again, letting the water stream across her face and eyes this time. Hands moving to give sight to the blind, her fingertips studied her face, high cheekbones, soft, full mouth. She moved her hands across her breasts, flesh soft and tender. Her hands moved lower, cradling her tummy. Her womb ached, heart beat moving beneath her fingertips.

Eyes closed, she moved with memory of familiar hands, loving hands, gentle hands, body opening like a wild torrent, rushing, gushing with power and need, fueled by hunger and loneliness. She melted into the hard metal back of the tub, its cool surface sapping her body of warmth until she left her cocoon and wrapped her nakedness in a soft, fluffy towel. She didn’t bother to dress. She climbed into bed and cried herself to sleep.

8

Maddi entered the airport the next morning and hurried to the reservation desk, her single suitcase wobbling dangerously on its worn wheels. She was obviously American again. Faded jeans with white tee shirt and a stunning navy blue boyfriend jacket. Her one concession to Italy were the Italian boots on her feet in place of her Nikes. Hair pulled back in a long ponytail with a navy silk scarf; she wore huge sunglasses, remnants of her college days at the University of Texas.

Anxiously watching the clock above her head, she was relieved when it was finally her turn.

Reservation for Madeline Lawson, she heaved her suitcase onto the scales. I am on the 10 a.m. flight to Chicago.

The man ignored her, studying the screen in front of him. When the silence reached meltdown, Maddi nervously turned to the passenger behind her who was grumbling loudly about missing her flight. It must be the computer. I changed my reservation last night.

The reservations representative looked up. That’s the problem. Step to the back of the line, please.

What? What problem? To Maddi’s dismay, he removed her suitcase from the scales.

Next?

The impatient woman tried to push past Maddi.

Now just one minute, Maddi shouldered her way past the intruder. What’s going on?

The representative frowned. If you would step aside Ms. Lawson I can help the other passengers.

When you are done helping me I will gladly step aside. What is the problem here? My flight leaves, she turned to look at the clock, in exactly twenty minutes.

Tomorrow, he added, giving her suitcase a firm shove in her direction. Not today. Please read the back of your ticket, Ms. Lawson. To change a flight you must come directly to the ticket counter. Next?

Maddi’s eyes narrowed dangerously. And why was I not told this last night when the reservation desk changed my flight to this morning? Someone touched her elbow. What? She turned to face the irritant and was shocked to see a uniformed security guard. Other passengers were whispering among themselves, eyes all on Maddi.

Follow me, please, he left no room for protest.

Thoroughly humiliated, Maddi gathered her suitcase and retraced her steps to the main terminal where she was shown into a private office.

We will need to see your ticket and your passport, Ms. Lawson, he said, indicating a seat across from him as he settled behind a desk.

She did as she was asked, placing the documents on his desk.

He glanced at the ticket, but seemed more interested in her passport. I see you traveled to Germany last year, he thumbed through the pages, and Spain. What was your business there, please?

Maddi was dumbstruck. I was in Germany to cover a story on Baader Meinhoff- the Red Army Faction. I’m a journalist. I work for La Louisianne. It’s my job to travel. I was here for Fashion Week. Is there a problem?

He studied her. Why were you in Spain?

This one was a little more complicated. I was on assignment.

For what?

The date was stamped along with the country. If he owned a television, he would know why she was there.

I was in Madrid reporting on the armed Basque separatist group, ETA. I covered the bombing for the Associated Press.

He picked up her passport, studying it. One must wonder if there is any connection to your travels to Germany the year before and the bombings in Madrid. He placed her passport in a manila folder along with her plane ticket. We ask that you remain in country, Ms. Lawson, until further notice. I am sure it will only be a formality. Airport security is very strict since the bombing in Rome last year. It is for your own protection as well as others’, I am sure you understand. I will have one of our cars take you to your hotel.

I checked out of the Principe di Savoia this morning, to her intense mortification, her voice trembled. Fashion Week isn’t over until Sunday. I’m not sure where I can stay. Hotels were booked months in advance.

Do you have someone you could call here in Milano, perhaps a friend, an acquaintance?

Maddi’s heart sank. Most of the American press had left yesterday. There was no one. She knew that was not entirely true. There was Antonello da Messina. He may still be at his penthouse on the Via Monte Napoleone.

Antonello da Messina. To her relief the security agent reacted appropriately.

You are a friend of Signore da Messina?

I am about to be. "If I may